Turn Your Radio On
by patchworkdove
Summary: [MovieVerse] In becoming immersed in the radio broadcasts of Western culture, Bumblebee's outlooks and emotions have slowly changed.


Please Note: I am not a Hardcore Transformers fan. I used to watch the cartoons as a kid, and I had a couple of the toys, but I can't remember anything about the original series. This Fanfic is based entirely off the 2007 Transformers film, with some extra info gleamed from wikipedia. I apologise for any inconsistency based rage experienced by any Hardcore Trandformers Fans reading this fic

I own no rights to the film or other Transformers-affilated products.

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A yellow 5th Gen Chevrolet Camaro rolled up a dusty track that wound towards the hilltop. Gravel popped under the broad tread of wide-rimmed alloy wheels while clouds of sun-baked, burnt umber dirt lifted up and rolled away in the light breeze. The car pulled up to the crest of the hill and its engine rumbled into silence. The setting sun hung full and red in the sky, lowering into the haze that hovered over the city below.

Two teenagers climbed out, giggling, and hurried away to find somewhere private, leaving the parking bay to descend into silence and the dust to settle. Soon, all that could be heard was the whisper of the dry grass and the faintest echo of the bustling city streets carried up from below on the wind.

Bumblebee sagged into his well-sprung suspension. He had stopped witnessing human life quite some time ago. When voiceless, he had listened to the radio in search of ways to communicate, becoming deeply immersed in Western Human culture. Bumblebee had listened to the meaning of their music, taking in their words and thoughts. He'd listened to late night chat shows, comedies, dramas and film reviews. He'd become a part of it all, a hint of humanity now coloured his thoughts. When you really listened, who could fail to become wrapped up in such a social species? How could you resist falling into their troubles and strifes? Love, life, health and prosperity?

One theme ran deeply through all human broadcasts. An abhorrence of loneliness.

Bumblebee had been at War for longer than he cared to remember. He'd always been amongst friends or enemies and he'd always had objectives to strive towards. Find comrades. Destroy enemies. Seek the Allspark... a stark lack of ambiguity.

He'd found Sam Witwicky. He'd found other Autobots. Megatron's spark had been extinguished. So had Jazz's. He'd even held the Allspark cube in his own hands before it was destroyed. He'd been repaired and he'd asked to stay with Sam.

Now what were his objectives? What was his purpose? He was a soldier without a cause. He was protecting Sam, but from what? It had been months since he'd seen another Autobot, let alone a Decepticon. Loneliness had seeped into his fuel lines and now it flowed through him like contaminated lubricant.

Humans had shown him just how alone he was. They had also shown him how it should make him feel.

There was a metallic squeal as canary-yellow bodywork panels parted to expose whirring chrome. Like an autonomous Rubik's cube, components rotated and spun as automobile became biped. Where a Camaro had been parked, a 17 foot Autobot now stood.

Bumblebee walked over the crest of the hill, leaving footprints of flattened grass and disturbed earth behind him. He needed to stretch his legs and he wanted to see the sun set with his own eyes. He headed towards a position with cover provided by trees, not wishing to be harassed by surprised humans with cameras. Or guns. The agony of Sector 7 had put a fear of strangers in him.

He sat down in the 'long' grass, though it was barely a hand's width tall to him. It brushed against his metal-hide hull, where a fully healed yellow and black sheen covered him like paint work. Not all of his injuries had healed so seamlessly. Bumblebee looked down at his legs, seeing parts and components that had never been his. The damage to his legs below the knee had been devastating. Ratchet had salvaged all he could from Bumblebee's own ruined body, but what couldn't be saved, needed to be replaced.

At the time, it had seemed like the obvious, logical course of action. Now, looking back on it with altered reflections, having some of Jazz's components tied in with his own gave Bumblebee a constant, sobering reminder of his own mortality.

Blue-white eyes like a twin pair of fighter jet afterburners looked towards the red fire of the sun. Perhaps listening to the radio would fill the silence? He half-heartedly surfed the tide of incoming radio signals, listening for anything that caught his attention.

"…woke up this morning and the streets were full of cars,  
all bright and shiny like they'd just arrived from mars,  
and as I stumbled through last nights drunken debris,  
the paperboy screamed out the headlines in the street.

Another war and now the pound is looking weak,  
and tell me have you read about the latest freak?  
We're bingo numbers and our names are obsolete,  
why do I feel bitter when I should be feeling sweet?

Hello, hello, turn your radio on.  
Is there anybody out there?  
Help me sing my song.  
Life is a strange thing,  
just when you think you learned how to use it,  
it's gone.

Woke up this morning and my head was in a daze,  
a brave new world has dawned upon the human race,  
where words are meaning less and everything's surreal,  
gonna have to reach my friends to find out how I feel…"

Bumblebee noticed that his sensors were registering two humans in close proximity at 6 o'clock. He killed his speakers and turned to look over his shoulder. It was only Sam and Mikalea. They were stood at the hill's peak, and Bumblebee pulled himself to his feet.

"Sorry. I did not think you would want to go home so soon." He rasped, his vocal processors were still not yet back to full capacity.

"We can wait if you want?" Mikalea shaded her eyes with one hand as she looked up at him.

"No need." Bumblebee had reached the parking bay and in a lazy re-shuffling of parts he lowered himself to the dirt. As the last creases in the Camaro's bodywork flattened out into a seamlessly professional paint job, a voice echoed from somewhere under the hood. "I can think at …home."

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This is going to be a multi-chaptered fic. Please do not add a comment if all you want to do is try to alter the course of this fic. Otherwise, enjoy! I'll be updating weekly, on Thrus/Fri.

LYRICS: Shakespeare's Sister; Hello (Turn Your Radio On).


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